Up Against the Wall
by over troubled waters
Summary: It's been a long month. In fact, Francis is sure that time has initially halted so he can merely wallow in the most mentally tormented moments of his life. After your death, nothing is simply the same... [Reader x France] This will have happy ending. Wistful, but happy. Inspired by the Boys Like Girls' song, 'Up Against the Wall.' *COMPLETE*
1. La Première Partie

**UP AGAINST THE WALL**

The crimson wine sloshed into crystalline wine glass. It was half empty once the liquid had been poured inside and put aside. The blue-eyed blonde often wondered why he didn't just drink straight from the bottle by now. That way, it would certainly match the way his home was so squalidly unkempt and scattered. Papers on the floor, clothes thrown about in almost a hateful manner: some of the materials looked as if they had been forcibly ripped apart. The rooms looked as if he hadn't cleaned in weeks, and he certainly had been outside for a long time either. He'd had visitors, with their horrid, apologetic eyes and even Arthur came by, which was quite an anomaly itself.

No one stayed, though. He didn't let them.

He just sat there in his velvety green recliner, his legs sprawled over the side, wallowing in his self-pity, tormented by his thoughts and by sickeningly sweet memories.

Those sky blue eyes never looked the same after your untimely departure. The circles underneath them were too dark to match his once spontaneous personality. The blonde stubble on his chin was growing out into a beard, and it looked all too haggard for him. Francis had found himself lost, wandering in this thoughts - no, his past. Dwindling in the present wasn't for him. There was no life in him now, as he sat. The only way he found solace was to look behind him; before you disappeared from his reaches.

Whenever he felt the present latch onto his physical body, his emotions recoiled into something rotten and putrid. The faster he could satiate his somatic needs, he could go back to the dreams where everything was alright. In those moments when reality took over, he felt miserable. When he felt as if his eyes threatened to tear up, his cries never came. Sometimes, a dry sob would come of result of this lost sanguinity. Whatever tears he had cried for you had been shed long ago; he was dried up like a well in the desert.

Said sanguinity had been lost so quickly… It had only been a month ago, after all. So abrupt. No one saw it coming. Not he. Not _you_.

It started on the seventeenth of March, one year ago, when he finally began courting you. You two had shown previous romantic tendencies for one another in your company, but it was only later on that the two of you were an official couple. It was when Francis had given up his title of the Lothario and convinced you to take him, which you gladly did, that your true emotions for each other flourished. You saw him in a different way than others did. To you, he was romantic, not perverted. He was spontaneous, not artless… Your glass was always half full.

You two dated one another casually for the first few of months, but it soon became serious. He asked if you'd move in with him, and you'd, again, said yes. It had been a good day for him; it had made his heart soar, and he had picked you up and twirled you around, your summer dress spinning with you. His laugh was a bright as the June sun that was peaked in the afternoon sky.

That summer was slow; and that was wonderful.

On a cooler day in August, when the humidity wasn't latched onto your skins and making the both of you sluggish, he offered to take you out on a picnic. And that perhaps, one his most fondest memories of you. (Hours of this memory had been replayed like a broken record in his head). Francis had taken you all the way to the coastline where the gulls cried freely and you could hear the waves crash against rocks. You had been situated on the cliff's side, where the ocean was in view and there was shade under a tree.

The way the viridian grass complimented your eyes... And how you laughed when he called at the birds! They were sitting pleasantly in the large plant you two were propped against, and when Francis called to them, they cried back, whirling above you in a frenzy before flying out to the waves.

His eyes barely seemed to falter from your image; those cerulean blue eyes always followed you and made sure you took up his sight.

"Mon petit papillion, do you like the view?"

"Like it? I love it, Francis," the admiration shown in your eyes, and he gave you sweet kiss on the nose, and you nuzzled into his chest. He lifted your chin, however, requesting your attention once more as he pushed back a loose tendril of your (H/C) hair. You looked up, your orbs sparkling as sunlight flooded through the tree's leaves and into your hair.

"(Name), z'ese months put behind us have been, undoubtedly, z'e best of my life. I, too, feel as if I'm moving quite fast, and if I am for you, I understand… But if you would allow me to ask a question, I'd be forever in your gratitude," his eyes flitted to the sea and then to your's again, a soft smile gracing those tantalizingly sweet lips of his.

For a moment, no words came out of your mouth, but you soon had him oblige, with a nod, your jaw open for a moment. Was he?…

"(Name), sweet amour, would you please sip and finish your wine for me?"

For a moment, you were shocked at the rather odd request, but then picked up the glass and almost gulped it down before he stopped you, with a "non, non, drink as you would normally, amour," and you gratified him with a soft sip.

Something metal hit your lips as you finished, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

You lowered the cup, taking out the wine-stained, silver circle of metal. At the top, there gleamed a diamond, the most prominent feature. Your jaw dropped, and he grinned a bit.

"May I ask a second question, papillon?"

You nodded, dumbfounded.

"Would you do me the honour of becoming Mrs. (Name) Bonnefoy?"

There was no hesitation as you threw your arms around the blonde man, knocking him over into the grass, his deep laugh rumbling his chest as he wrapped his own arms around you. The kiss shared by you two was an evident sign that this was going to happen. This relationship that had formed over the course of years of friendship, and only months of anything formal, was turning into an occasion that you'd both remember for the rest of your lives.

A grumble left the throat of Francis as he had pulled himself out of his recliner. His stomach was rumbling with hunger. Though wine had sufficed for some amount of time, his body required something of sustenance and the alcoholic beverage simply wouldn't do the trick. Although, in the past weeks, he _had _lost weight, it didn't mean he wasn't eating. He just didn't eat as much as one would normally eat, and that was fine as long as he was living.

He slowly padded into the dimly lit kitchen, the morning air coming in from an open window. The kitchen was a mess as well. The dishes were piled up rather high and he knew that he'd soon have no dishes left. Since the maid was vacationing in southern France, there was no one to clean; not that he cared. Francis had only realized how much comfortable when everything was cluttered and dirty. He had also realized that he had also become something of a pig during this ordeal… rolling in his own filth.

'_(Name) would hate seeing you this way. In fact, if you were anything like this when you met, she probably would've pushed you away,' _a rational part of him argued.

It hurt him a bit: he was nothing without you now. If you hadn't been apart of him, he'd be himself. If he was like himself before - if he acted like himself… Could he pretend to get better?

For a moment, he pushed away the question pressed in his head and went into the refrigerator and snacked on some cheese that was already cut into slices, all the better for his convenience. As he walked out, he found himself tripping on a cord.

"_Merde_…" His eyes flickered to the object that had caused the ruckus and sighed, looking at it like some sort of ancient relic. Was this fate?.. Maybe. He eyed the living room.

He was a pig.

'_You are a pig.'_

Francis soon realized that he was having an out-of-body experience as soon as he came back to reality: he was vacuuming the floor; it was looking whiter. This was scary. He soon left this reality, his body on auto-pilot, and when he returned from his daydreaming, the laundry was being folded and his scattered old clothing was dumped into a basket, ready to be put through the washing machine.

This feeling was odd.

He felt… accomplished.

As if simple house-hold chores could make a broken man feel like he was whole again! How silly… But; the feeling was real, right?

'_Yes_,' he decided, '_it's real_.'


	2. La Deuxième Partie

The mid-morning air was hanging in the room, warming the area like small sun. He had been working for a few hours now, oddly enough, and the apartment was looking hundreds of times better that it had been before. In fact, if you didn't know better, you would've just thought that Francis had been having a busy week and didn't have all that much time to tidy up the house.

Things were getting better. After all, revelations usually do the trick when you're in pitiful states like the French man had been. His had been one simple thought. Why he hadn't thought of it earlier made him feel like a complete idiot. 'A buffoon,' as Arthur would sometimes call him.

Just because he was currently loveless didn't mean it was the end of the world. Hundreds of people loose loved ones. He wasn't alone… A live was given in order for another to survive. That was life. (Name)'s death was something of a sacrifice. She died, he lived; had he been able to choose, it would have always been her who lived. But sometimes, you don't get to pick the things in life that are most important to you.

They just happened.

Like your wedding.

It had been planned, yes, but it happened like the snap of his fingers.

Your slim figure had been encased in the most lovely of fabrics, a floral design tracing itself down the gorgeous silk cloth as it twined itself around your middle and to the floor. You were supposed to look as if you were a goddess ascending from the pureness of cotton clouds and were ready to finally give yourself up to the most human of people.

One who dared to love.

One who was curious about anything different.

One who was ready to commit himself.

And so you came down the aisle, wildflowers recently gathered by an expert florist… Well, Feliciano did have an eye for flowers, but maybe he wasn't exactly professional. Nonetheless, they provided a natural look that only amplified your beauty as you smiled uncontrollably. Your bright, (eye color) orbs crinkled with your nose as you made your way down to Francis on Ludwig's arm, whom you placed a kiss on his cheek before parting. He was a good friend to play 'father' while your's was away, but he took his place back at Feliciano's side in the pews.

Now you were alone under the archways, the pastor giving a brief smile as the two of you joined under the daylight shining overhead. Here, outside, the breeze tickled your skin and tossed your locks of hair playfully from side to side.

Time ticked by…

"… And you may now kiss the bride."

Your arms were thrown tightly around him in an embrace like no other and your lips touched, giggles emitting from your mouth as you pressed back from each other and touched foreheads while the crowds behind you clapped. Even Arthur was smiling for the two of you, although it was interrupted when Alfred, at his side, started to fist-pump and hoot.

Feliciano threw flower petals at you as you threw back your bouquet which Elizaveta caught with a jump in the air.

"Oh! Francis!"

He pulled you up and effectively carried you as the bride should be carried: bridal-style. The Frenchman made his way to your vehicle and away you went to your honeymoon spot at the beach where he had first proposed to you on it's hill.

Francis felt his stomach growl again and before he could think twice about even daring to open his near-empty refrigerator, he was in the bathroom, tidying himself up. First, he put on a pair of black slacks he used to wear frequently, then his dashing white button-up, and then the jacket that went over it. Away went the messy beard with a delicate shave. As he concentrated on cleaning up his unkempt look, he realized how much he'd changed himself. The dark circles could stay for now; to serve him as a reminder of what he'd become when he wasn't careful. His golden locks seemed to glisten in the little ray of light that shimmered through the open high bathroom window after it was combed.

He was back again. He felt almost complete. Sure, he would never be completely the same, but why wallow? Why hurt himself when he could be bettering himself? His blue eyes had a little more life in them: they looked like a lively ocean like they once had been.

The blonde pushed through the doors of his apartment, wallet in his pocket, and a soft smile on his lips. It was wistful, being out here. His gold wedding band gleamed when sunlight finally hit it for the first time in a long while. He looked at it a for a moment, then kissed it and pulled it off, pushing it into his pocket. It was time to go shopping in the open market, Aligre Market, which was only four minutes from Place de la Bastille*.

The breeze felt good against his cheeks as he walked outside, strolling to the market, where he hoped to find some good bargains and great items to make wonderful French cuisine like he used to. Quiche lorraine had always been one of his favourites, and now that he was going to be able to buy ingredients, it would be possible to do so.

When he reached the street, many inviting smells came to dance within his nostrils. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scents, then exhaled with a sweet sigh, "Merveilleux..!"

For a long while, he shopped for quality items, whether they be fruits, vegetables, or pastry crust for his quiche lorraine. It was time to head back to his home, but before he left, he needed a loaf of bread. He ambled casually to the bakery, only to look back for a quick moment- wasn't that Mrs. Dupont? He could've sworn that it was her because her hair was pinned back; maybe it was… If it was, he could've said 'hello,' because he hadn't seen her for a long while. Maybe she had the baby by now and-

He felt most of his items fall to the ground with him with a audible 'oomph!'

"OH! My goodness! I'm so sorry, I…"

The blonde man didn't really hear what the rest of what she said was. That wisp of (hair colour) hair made his heart jump. And he was confused. Maybe this all had been a dream, after all? No, a nightmare… But this was the best part of the nightmare because everything was alright and she was here, right?

His oceanic eyes blinked in bemusement.

"… Really, I do apologize…" Her voice was so sweet to hear once again.

"Non, non… It's… It's alright…" His voice trailed off as he watched her gather his things hurriedly, and all he could do was sit there useless. She looked up at him, flustered, her (eye color) eyes suddenly concentrated on his.

"I… Well, uhm… Haven't I seen you around before…?"

"I think so."

"I'm (Name)."

"… I'm Francis."

And there was something there that he'd been missing for a long while now. There was this feeling that warmed him, made him shiver pleasantly - it was hope. He felt it when those eyes looked at him gently; kindly.

He felt whole again.


End file.
